As I said, a name wasn't much to go on. That's why I'm glad technology is so advanced. Once a week, the directors would take us to the library to get books, get help with homework, or simple sit quietly. I used that time to go on the internet to find out information about my mother. Having only an hour a week made the process very slow, but over the course of several months I gathered little tidbits and started to piece the story together. She had been in and out of jail for most of her life. It was usually petty theft or robbery, enough to get you in to jail for a little while. Because she was in jail so much, they had many of her known addresses. I cross-checked those with the city records that showed her last known address before she died. There was a match. I found out that it was a one room apartment. When I got a map and checked where it was, I became very nervous. The apartment was in the shadiest part of Lowtown, which unto itself is completely shady. This was the kind of place that a young teenager would get killed, kidnapped, or mugged. I knew that, but my longing desire to know overcame any fear I had. I had to find out, pure and simple.

One night about a week after I turned thirteen, I set out. I took a bus as close as I could get to the apartment building, but I still had over a mile to walk, public services just don't run in that part of town. No matter, I knew the way there from reading that map so many times. As long as I didn't get mugged, I was fine. Through some good fortune, I reached the place untouched. It was several stories high and seemed to be an office building as well. I checked the directory, but there was only one person there, Arick Huebris: The Mortician. I had heard the name mentioned several times, always in disgust, fear, and a little bit of nervousness. I wondered why this guy was the only person here. Was he so dangerous that everyone just goose-stepped, or was it that this building was about to fall over because it was so old and dilapidated. Whatever the reason, I had come too far to stop now. I went in and up to the top floor to the apartment my mother had lived in. As I opened the door, I prepared for the worst.

I started off simple, the history of magic. I learned many things. First it was a mixture of genetics, knowledge, and self-discipline that allowed one to wield magic. Wielding magic was tapping into supernatural and metaphysical energies around us, then harnessing, channeling, and converting that energy into the form you wanted. There were mental techniques, certain gestures based on the type of magic, incantations, herbal concoctions that supposedly supplemented your magic, and many other minute details that would make magic very difficult to even create let alone control. And for all of the detail and severity of it, I had to try. It was in my blood so to speak. So I kept studying it in secret for several years. I learned different techniques and other various tools, but I didn't actually attempt anything until I was sixteen years old.

I found a restaurant, not a nice, upscale, fancy restaurant, but it had cheap food and that's what I wanted. I bought a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake. Then I sat down and pondered my whole situation. I had the clothes on my back and a spare change of clothes in my bag. I had about 100 dollars. And I had very personal items like a comb, toothbrush, wallet, small magic book, and a couple other things. I would need a place to stay and that usually cost money, unless I wanted to go use my mom's apartment. I decided that would be a last resort. I would also eventually need money. I knew basic thievery, but I was far from a professional pickpocket. Supplies and possessions were always limited at the orphanage, so had learned to squirrel things away discreetly. Trying to rob someone would more than likely get me killed. Long story short I needed other possibilities, and luckily fate intervened this time on my behalf.

I walked out of the restaurant and down an alley in search of a hotel. I didn't find one, but I found about six men squatting in a semicircle farther down the alley. As I walked up on them, I noticed they were throwing dice, gambling it seemed because money was constantly changing hands among them. I stood there watching for awhile, trying to figure out the game, but it moved too fast for me to really catch on.

One of the guys noticed me standing there for awhile and said, "What you staring at, son?"

"Just trying to figure out what you're playing." I said in a weak voice.

"It's called "3s". You got any money to play?"

I thought for a second and noticed they were only playing for coins and a dollar bill here and there. Even if I lost badly, I could still have even money to survive. And if I won, it would help a lot. So I said, "Yeah, how do you play?"

I still had my library card, so I went to the library to find a book on magic and magnetism. There was only one, but luckily for me it was there and I checked it out. I also printed some internet pages that looked helpful. Now the hard part began. I didn't have any metal to practice with, so I ripped some of the springs out of the hotel mattress. Some of them were already sticking out so it wasn't a big deal. I started reading and practicing the proper mental techniques for magnetism and after three days I was ready to try it. This was kind of a repeat of the fireball incident. It started out well, but I lost control of the magnetic field and ended up with a spring sticking out of my palm. Geez did it hurt. I pulled it out and thankfully it wasn't rusty yet. This was going to take practice and I didn't know how much my hand could take, but it was this or work or starve. The last two appealed slightly less that a disfigured hand. So I practiced. "Practice makes perfect" is another quote I like, because it's mostly true. I only scarred my hand five more times in the next three days. I also put quite a few dents and holes in the wall, but that didn't really matter. I was learning and by the end of the week I had a pretty solid foundation with using magnetism. I locked and unlocked the door to my room and the janitor's closet. He still had no clue where his First Aid kit had disappeared to. I paid for another week at the hotel and then decided to go and test my newfound skills.

It was a routine job. I staked out a well-to-do family's house and waited until they left for an evening out. Five minutes after they left, I casually entered the house and began looking around. I found a safe with some money and bonds in it and grabbed them. As I was making my way toward the front door to leave, the family walked in and saw me.

"What the..?" the father gasped, "Put those down, I'll have you arrested."

He and his two teenage sons advanced on me. I might have been able to defend myself with a fireball, but I was too stunned to concentrate and perform any sort of magic at all. I panicked. I threw everything in the air and made a break for the front door. One of the sons grabbed my coat but I wriggled loose and bolted out the door. They followed me for several blocks before I had turned and backtracked enough to lose them. Even so, I was winded and a long way from home. I had escaped just barely and I had no desire to relive that experience. I started walking toward home. Fearful that my face was on the news and police frequencies, I took many back alleys and dark streets. I decided that I needed a better profession, but I also needed some sort of escape route. I settled on teleportation. I was a wizard after all and magic had proved to be my ally in the past.

One night winning got me in trouble and I'll admit I was doing well that night. It was a normal night at one of the better casinos in Khazan and I was on a roll. I got pocket aces in Texas Hold' em more times than I could count, I got multiple royal flushes and it seemed nothing could go wrong. And I won too, I won big. Almost everyone at the table was awestruck at how good my luck was. Some of them were getting a little upset too. One man in particular left the table in a huff because I had taken the last of his chips. He excused himself to go get more while muttering something about cheating and "the devil's own luck". Ten minutes later I felt a searing pain in my shoulder blade. I turned around half-dazed and blinded by the pain and saw the man standing there with a sick, satisfied expression on his face. He was holding a knife and from what other people were shouting, he had stabbed me in the back. As he raised the other knife to stab me again, I teleported away.

Being stabbed wasn't necessarily a wake-up call, but it brought reality back in to focus. I had been just coasting along, happy and nonchalant, almost idyllic. But now I needed something concrete. I needed a regular job or something of that nature. The problem was that my skills did not lend themselves to any respectable or even legal profession besides gambling. I toyed with various ideas before finally settling on organized crime. I don't exactly know why I chose it, but organized crime seemed to naturally fit my skills and even give me a sense of purpose. I sought out the Syndicate, the upscale criminals who aren't bent on world-domination, just profit.

After several months, I managed to grab their attention. The rumors in town were that they were looking for gems. I guess gems were a hot item on the market or something. So naturally, I stole from several jewelry stores and some of the mansions in uptown Khazan. Next I had to find them. The Syndicate didn't exactly advertise so I had to sniff them out. It took me several weeks, but I finally found a warehouse that was a front for their operations about a half-mile from my apartment. I was pissed at something being right under my nose, but it was nice to know I'd be dealing with professionals.

The warehouse itself was an old fish cannery, the kind of place that no one wants to investigate because of the smell. I walked in and asked a guy at a desk if he wanted to buy some gems. He promptly pulled a shotgun from behind the desk and asked, "You a cop?"

"No" I said setting a handful of jewelry on the desk. "I'm your new business associate."

He still had the shotgun on me but he started inspecting the jewelry. He picked up one piece and eyed it carefully. "This necklace looks like one that was reported stolen from a mansion about a month ago."

"It was" I flashed a mischievous grin.

"You got more?" he asked

"Yeah" I said, "How much you payin for this stuff?"

"Depends if you got what we want." he said, finally lowering his gun. "Tell me what you got and I can give you a price."